


Call

by orphan_account



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Scout Being Afraid of Looking Girly, and Then Fuck You Feelings., with Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Songs on the radio can lead you across the whole spectrum of emotions, and more often than not, touch you in ways you'd never admit to anybody, including yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call

**Author's Note:**

> The very first title name with my OC! I really hope you like him. He's a work in progress, to say the least. Basically this is just a little work to show some insight to my Scoot when he's getting "weakling" thoughts. Just saying, it is based on Regina Spektor's theme of The Call for The Chronicles Of Narnia: Prince Caspian.

The rusty box rattled along the lane. Dust flew up out of the dark and brushed at his face. Red from irritation and from him rubbing them vigorously every three seconds, pale green eyes reflected the light that swept out in front of him to light the road. The radio crackled in static, occasionally giving out a single note or word before dying again. He adjusted the mirror to look at it for a second, wiping his hair back before slouching down in the driver's seat. There were a few thoughts that were racing through his waterlogged brain, all of them too fast to fully latch onto before they dashed off laughing at his insolence.

With nothing to do, his brain would run in circles, and since it had been doing that for hours now, a distraction was called for. After wondering for the third time if he had any gum left in his very clearly empty packet, he pulled over to the side of the road, nearly hitting the side of the freeway. Surprisingly, the radio crackled a little louder before giving out a burble of a sentence. He sat up a little straighter, pulling his mind out of the cycle it was going through. Edging the car forward now inch by inch, his gaze was fixed on the flickering monitor. And all of a sudden, the little rectangle lit up with some numbers and a voice came through.

"Thank you Tim, for that entertaining tidbit. And now on the program, we've got a song coming up. Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Regina Spektor, with _The Call_ "

Oh great. Some up-and-coming asshole.

No sooner had he thought this than the little orange bar began to flicker dangerously and he lurched forward to make sure it wouldn't quit on him somehow. The radio began to fuzz up again. God no, his mind couldn't take any more silence. He shook the box, mentally ordering it to not die, only for the buzzing to come back completely now.

Fuck.

He played with the wire for a few seconds before the tune came back on. The static faded out altogether maybe fifteen seconds into the song, but the singer was practically whispering the words, so he cranked up the volume.

_"..a quiet word._

_And then that Word grew louder and louder, till it was a battle cry,_

_I'll come back.. when you call me.._

_No need to say goodbye.."_

His brain tossed the words around lightly before he really caught them. The song was warped, and the mournful sound of the voice was making him feel upset. Something about them was getting to him, and that was unheard of. 

" _Just because everything's changing, doesn't mean it's never been this way before,_

_All you can do is try to know who your friend are, as you head off to the war,_

_Pick a star on the dark horizon, and follow the light,"_

His mind wasn't so much circling the words now as it was trying to comprehend. It poked and pried at them, something very disturbing pulling away at the surface of his thoughts. Questions flew off his mind like fireworks, sending flashes and bangs of light around the inside of his skull.

_"You'll come back, when it's over?_

_No need to say goodbye?_

_You'll come back when it's over._

_No need to say goodbye."_

There wasn't anything extremely intense about the song. Why was he getting such mixed feelings about it? A little solo came in, either cello or violin, possibly even french horn or trumpet. Suddenly he felt a spur of anger at himself for being drawn into such a weak and girly state of mind. In his line of work, you can't be thoughtful. Hell, if you don't have a brain in his line of work, they're even more likely to hire you. He began fuming with himself in anger, but the solo ended. Even so, he tried to pay it no mind for a little before he was pulled in. His attention was, despite his efforts, swiftly drawn back to the music only a few seconds after his futile resistance.

_"..no one knows yet._

_But just because they can't feel it too doesn't mean that you have to forget,_

_Let your memories grow stronger and stronger,_

_Till they're before your eyes._

_You'll come back when they call you?_

_No need to say goodbye?"_  

He hit the radio now, desperately wanting the silence back, missing the off button by only a couple millimetres.

_"You'll come back when they call you?_

_No need to say goodbye."_

The song faded out before he finally got the radio off and just about pitched it out the window. He sat, once again his mind mulling over the silence before he slammed his head on the steering wheel and let it sit there a couple of seconds, the horn blaring angrily into the darkness. He opened the door and got out of the car. He forced the door closed so quickly as he got out that his hand got caught in it. Swearing profusely, he pulled a packet of cheap cigarettes out and flicked open his Zippo.

What a steaming pile of turd. 


End file.
